


Burn

by VeannaBlue



Series: The Games We Play [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Implied Smut, Kissing, Rough Sex, Sex, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-03-24 17:32:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13816050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeannaBlue/pseuds/VeannaBlue
Summary: Ondolemar wants information. Ysabeau wants Ondolemar. They come to a mutually beneficial agreement.Follows on from Embers.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Due to a change in Ysabeau's canon this won't be completed, but I wanted to thank everyone who has read, liked or commented. They all mean to world to me ❤

Shadows danced across the ancient stone floor of Understone Keep, chased away by the dying, flickering light of the burnt down candles settled around the room, their bases heavy with melted wax from their long night's vigil. 

Amongst the blankets and furs, Ondolemar stretched languidly, blissful exhaustion pulling at his stiff muscles. He swung his long, elegant legs over the side of his bed and sat up, stilling for a moment to allow his head and eyes to adjust to the sensation of wakefulness. Beside him, the still sleeping Breton stirred, a hushed sound of subconscious objection passing her lips at the loss of his body warmth. The noise conjured the memory of their nocturnal activities into his mind and the shadow of a smile played across his face. 

To look at her now, a peaceful bundle of soft curves, loose blonde curls and full lips quirked in a sleepy smile, you would be hard-pressed to believe that the innocuous-looking woman was the mighty Dragonborn of legend. For all her beauty there was nothing to set her apart from any other human, nothing to mark her as a chosen one sent to end the dragon's reign. A vessel of great power disguised as an inconspicuous mortal. The gods certainly did enjoy their humour. 

It had been four weeks since he had first summoned the Breton to his personal chambers and during that time she had proven herself to be a delightful distraction from the mundane drudgery that was Markarth. What had started as a singular night of indulgence to rid himself of impure fantasies had turned into him summoning her whenever the mood came upon him, which of course as a superiorly bred Mer, was often. 

It would be easier to deny the craving for her touch if she wasn't so damned willing and enthusiastic. Excepting the few times she had been out on business for the Jarl, she had accepted every one of his summons with an eagerness that was both refreshing and intoxicating. As he studied her, Ondolemar wondered what it had been like for the Nords of Skyrim to learn that their hero was not the epitome of fire-breathing masculinity they had been expecting, but instead, the petite Breton curled in his bed looking as dangerous and intimidating as a kitten. The realisation must have been crushing for them. He wished he had seen it. 

A knock on the door pulled him from his musings and with a lingering glance at his companion, the Justiciar rose and with lazy strides made his way across the room to the door, pausing momentarily to slide a silken black robe over his bared golden skin. Upon opening the door he was faced with the stoic presence of one of his guards, Faidil.

"These arrived for you this morning, Sir." He said, handing over a neatly stacked pile of correspondence. His amber eyes darted curiously to the bed behind his superior, then just as quickly settled respectively on the floor. 

Ondolemar accepted them with a curt acknowledgement and shut the door, effectively dismissing Faidil, and began to meticulously sort through the papers until his fingers alighted on what he was looking for; a sheet of crisply folded parchment bearing the seal of the Aldmeri Dominion. 

"Finally."

Retrieving a dagger from his desk he sliced through the seal and unfolded the letter. The First Emissary's swooping handwriting swept across the page, dominating the paper as easily as Elenwen herself dominated those around her. 

_Commander Ondolemar,  
I find your proposal intriguing, if not heavily flawed. If this Breton is as dangerous as you say then she may do more harm to the cause than good. At the time of writing this letter, I am more inclined to send out an assassin to rid us of the issue, but I am willing to hold off on such orders until you have presented your case in person. If you fail to convince me of your plan, the Breton will be dealt with._

_I expect you to leave for the embassy upon receiving this letter. Do not delay._

_E._

Ondolemar's lips drew into a hard line at the contents. He had nothing but great respect for Elenwen and her ruthless leadership, but her short-sighted arrogance could be trying. Throwing down the letter and dagger with a frustrated sigh he raised his hands to massage his temples in slow, deliberate circles. He had expected convincing Elenwen would be the easiest part, not the other way around. 

"Commander? Are you alright?" 

Composing himself Ondolemar turned towards the bed where a now awake Ysabeau sat looking at him, her indigo eyes glassy with sleep and filled with concern. Silently he walked over to her and gently touched her face, allowing his fingers to trail over her lips and along her jaw. She pressed herself against his fingertips and he smirked. 

"Tell me Dragonborn, have you enjoyed our time together?" 

"Yes, of course, Commander. Have I done anything wrong?"

"No, I simply needed to confirm my own thoughts before I leave. Thanks to you, I am sound in my infallible judgement."

"Leaving? Where are you going?"

The note of disappointment in her tone was music to his ears. 

"I have business to attend to at the embassy, it shouldn't see me away for long. I do hope I can expect the pleasure of your company upon my return?"

The blush that had flushed her round cheeks so charmingly swept down her throat, colouring her skin in shades of pink.

"I would like that very much, Commander." She glanced at him coyly from beneath her lashes and added, "But, must you leave so suddenly? Would you possibly have time to say a proper goodbye?"

Moving to sit up on her knees she loosened the blanket that was draped around her shoulders and let it fall just enough to reveal the swell of her breasts and the tantalizing peek of rosy pink nipples. A delicate hand reached out to him and Elenwen's words echoed in his mind: "Do not delay." 

Ignoring the voice in his head, Ondolemar took her hand in his and allowed her to gently pull him back to the nest of blankets and furs they had strewn over the unforgiving stone bed. He shed his robe and seized her mouth roughly in a searing kiss. Melting into his touch she moaned against him. Meeting his ardour with her own and allowing him free reign to accost her. She tasted of sweetness and light and he hungrily took his fill until finally pulling away, breathless and hard. 

Elenwen could wait a few more hours.


	2. Chapter 2

The one thing Ondolemar hated most about this Oblivion cursed country, even more than the local Nords, was the cold. From the ice that coated the roads, to the snow that melted into his cloak and the freezing wind that whipped directly through them, stealing whatever little warmth he had harboured. It was everywhere, and inescapable. At this moment, with his fingers frozen around the reins, and little feeling left anywhere, except for the incessant icey bite of the wind in all of his extremities, he was certain that the cold was a wave of torture sent specifically for him.

Beneath him, his mount snorted, sending puffs of warm breath into the frigid air. Ondolemar patted its neck in commiseration, the poor beast had as much choice in being in this gods-forsaken land as he did. The shaggy bay gelding was a far cry from the impeccably bred mounts of Alinor but it had been a reliable steed who had not thrown him into a snowdrift when they had been attacked by a pack of starving wolves, unlike Faidil's horse. For that Ondolemar was thankful.  
By Auri-el's mercy, they had had an uneventful trip, excluding the wolves which had been swiftly incinerated by Ondolemar and his second guard, Areon, while Faidil had pulled himself from the snow, furious and freezing. But even their relatively safe travels did not prevent Ondolemar from releasing a sigh of relief at the sight of the Embassy gates looming before them as they rounded the bend.

Upon entering the grounds they dismounted and Ondolemar threw his reins to a waiting Bosmer and then, finally, after countless hours in the freezing cold, he entered the warmth of the Thalmor Embassy.

***

Elenwen considered herself a Mer of simple, yet refined tastes, but even she found herself growing bored with this stalemate they had found themselves in with the war. For too long the cells had remained empty and she felt the desperate ache to lose herself in the delicate arts of torture, in the letting of blood and the satisfying sounds of screams and pleas for mercy. The thought of the empty dungeons grated on her already sour mood. What she needed was a worthwhile activity to unleash her desires, something physical that would rid her of her boredom and enable her to work at least a small part of her darker needs. Her eyes scanned the room, alighting on the various guards that were stationed for her protection and convenience, no, they would not do. They were but mere pawns, hardly worthy of her notice.

A flurry of movement in the doorway drew her attention to the entrance of the Third Emissary, Rulindil. His expression was as dark and vexed as she felt. Of course, the empty dungeons would be affecting him, even more so than herself. With little of his usual trade to keep him busy, he had taken to joining her in important meetings and discussions, an unofficial advisor until his finely tuned skills were needed again. She eyed the interrogator as he approached her and took his place beside her chair. He was undoubtedly a much more enticing prospect, but past experience had shown her that any advancements were unwelcome and though she could force the issue, there was something in his ebony stare that made her falter. Not that she would ever admit it out loud of course.

Her inner contemplation was disrupted by one of the guards announcing the arrival of Commander Ondolemar.

"Finally," she thought to herself with an irritated sigh. As he entered the room and greeted her with a modest bow, her eyes lingered on his lips, on the finely chiselled jaw and the high rise of his cheekbones. Something stirred within her and the shadow of a salacious grin slid across her face. Unlike Rulinidl, Ondolemar took great pride in serving the Dominion, in whatever that entailed. A trait that she had exploited previously to her immense satisfaction. Whether she allowed him to continue with this Dragonborn nonsense or not, she at least would find her wishes granted by his arrival.

Taking a sip of wine from the goblet perched in her hand, she composed her thoughts, setting her face into a mask of passive displeasure. Business first, pleasure later.

"You are late, Ondolemar. You know I do not like to be kept waiting."

"Forgive me, Madam Ambassador. I was postponed."

Elenwen squinted her eyes, studying him closely, but Ondolemar did not offer further explanation and she chose not to question him on the matter.

"How do things go in Markarth? Is Jarl...what is his name?"

"Igmund," Ondolemar offered.

"Yes, Igmund. Is Jarl Igmund cooperating?"

"He refuses to tear down the shrine to Talos, as I mentioned in my last report. I'm afraid force will need to be applied to make him see sense."

"See that a letter is sent, dictating a suitable time limit for the Jarl to abide by," Elenwen said to an assistant on her left. "We must not show weakness over their pathetic attachment to a false god. If he will not have the statue removed, inform him that the Empire will send someone to do it for him." A hasty scribbling of the quill followed her words. "Now, about this Dragonborn business, what do we know?"

Her assistant offered her a red dossier that Ondolemar had sent ahead and she idly flicked through the file, her eyes scanning the limited notes with growing irritation. "This is disappointingly blank, Ondolemar. Do you not have more information than this?"

"With all due respect, your excellency, those notes are the only information the Dominion has pertaining to the Dragonborn, and all of it was discovered by myself from my post in Markarth. Before now, the Breton was below our notice."

A lesser Mer would have quelled beneath the look that Elenwen settled upon on him. Ignoring her ire, he continued. "The information is scarce, I grant you, but the knowledge it allows us is priceless. I have been unable to decipher what brought her to Skyrim, the Breton is stubborn about her past and I have not wanted to apply too much pressure for fear of making her suspicious, but since being here, she has become a student of the College of Winterhold, served as a healer in Whiterun’s temple of Kynareth and secured the position as a Thane in multiple holds, a title commonly held by locals. Jarl Elisif, in particular, favours her in her court. I have heard it said that the young widow has quite the fondness for the Dragonborn’s company. Whether Elisif is elevated as the rightful queen or not, this acquaintanceship can only be of benefit to us.”

A snicker parted Elenwen’s lips. “From what I have seen they are both foolish young women, blinded by their naivety. They must get along famously.”

“I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss the Dragonborn, your grace.”

"I grow bored hearing about the Breton’s social circle, Ondolemar," Elenwen muttered with disdain. "What of these powers you speak of?"

"The rumours spreading around the city say that she can control the dragons, call them to her aid, and if the mage's nephew is to be believed, summon them straight from Oblivion."

"The Breton can control dragons?" Rulindil asked, his tone dripping with scepticism.

"That is what they are saying, and if I am granted permission to accompany her, I will be in a position to discover the truth for myself."

In her mind's eye, Elenwen imagined herself sitting astride a golden dragon, magnificent and powerful, feared by all and resplendent as she decimated the enemies that refused to bow before her, Ulfric a chained pet at her side. Her bored expression never shifted into giving her away and she relished in her fantasy as she continued her questioning. "Where does she stand in the war?"

"The Stormcloaks have her sympathy but her allegiance is to the Empire. She is of the belief that Skyrim would not be strong enough to support itself, ravaged as she is by war. Her opinion of the Thalmor presence here is rather more of a grey area."

"Hmmm, interesting," Elenwen said, tapping the armrest of her chair thoughtfully. She stopped and looked up from the file to meet his eyes with a shrewd expression. "And what makes you so sure that you will be able to gain the loyalty we require?"

Ondolemar didn't even try to keep the smug tone out of his voice as he answered, "the girl is infatuated with me already, easily persuadable and eager to please. It won't take much effort to make her an acquiescent servant to the Dominion."

Something dark and unwanted curled in the pit of Elenwen's stomach. To her right, Rulindil rolled his eyes, his lips twisting into an obnoxious smirk.

"I highly doubt the Dragonborn will allow herself to be seduced to our side my lady, no matter how much confidence the Commander has in his abilities. Might I suggest we stick to more traditional methods of persuasion?"

"An intriguing idea, Rulindil. What say you, Ondolemar? Perhaps we should let Rulindil work on her. It may well prove to be faster than your own methods and more reliable."

The Commander visibly bristled beneath his hood. "I do not doubt the skill of the Third Emissary," he said, his voice low and restrained. "but a heavy hand will not work. If you wish to harness the full extent of the Dragonborn's power then we need her compliant, not broken."

"You are very confident on the matter."

"I am. I would swear my life on being able to accomplish this task."

Surprise momentarily cracked Elenwen's facade. She was both impressed and bothered by his determination and certainty. If she were the type of woman to be peevish and petty she would gladly hand the assignment to Rulindil and delight in hearing the Dragonborn's screams. However, she was far too refined and well bred for such low-class emotions so she simply said, "Very well. You have my permission Ondolemar. You may use whatever methods you see fit to persuade the Dragonborn to join us. But keep in mind, if you fail or she shows the slightest inclination to aiding Ulfric and his rebels, you will arrest her immediately and she can experience the luxury of our dungeons before her execution. I will not allow the Aldmeri Dominion to be compromised because of some human female." Her golden eyes levelled with his green. "You are dismissed, for now, but do not go far. I have other matters to discuss with you."

***

The Third Emissary and Commander took their leave together, making their way down tapestry filled hallways to a private sitting room where Ondolemar promptly lounged on a heavily cushioned chair.

"Gods, I've missed this," He said, taking in the surroundings of the warm and lushly furnished room.

"Missed what?" Rulindil asked, pouring them both a snifter of Colovian brandy and handing the glass to Ondolermar.

"Civilisation. Markarth is devoid of anything of the sort, regardless of what people say about the Dwemer. Nothing more than a city built of rocks with furniture designed by sadists. I envy you that you have never had the pleasure."

"And let's hope I never shall," Rulindil said, taking a seat opposite him. He eyed the Commander over the rim of his glass for a moment before saying, "Frankly Ondolemar, I am surprised in you. Swearing your life? I know you have a fondness for the dramatics, but that seemed too much, even for you. What on Nirn were you thinking?"

Ondolemar laughed and reclined back further in his seat. "To be perfectly honest with you, the main thing going through my mind was how to get out of that wretched city. Accompanying a human is preferable to staying another day in Markarth."

"And you're sure it will be worth it? The threat of dragons is one thing, but follower to the Dragonborn?" He paused to sneer at the very idea. "I never thought you would lower yourself to consort with such an inferior creature, even if it were beneficial to the Thalmor."

Ondolemar turned to him and, with a conspiratory grin, said, "Come now, Rulindil. Even a Mer of your tremendous restraint couldn't resist such a temptation. Inferior as they may be, _some_ Breton's have been blessed with a certain charm wouldn't you say?"

The tips of Rulindi's ears flamed crimson at his words. His nightly trysts with a raven-haired Breton were a heavily guarded secret and not one that he wanted to be discussed within the walls of the Embassy. "How did you know?" He growled between clenched teeth.

"I have been intercepting the Dragonborn's letters," Ondolemar answered breezily. "Bretons are such a gossipy race. The conversations relating to you were written in a crude code, ridiculously easy for someone of my intellect to decipher. I knew you were attracted to her that night of Elenwen's party but I would never have imagined that you would continue the folly."

The way Rulindil's eyes burned must have been a warning that Ondolemar was treading a very fine line, as he quickly added, "Do not fear my friend, it is purely between you and I. I would never risk my neck by betraying your confidence." He smirked and added, "Besides, who knows when I may have need of your experienced advice?"

***

That night, with Elenwen lightly snoring beside him, Ondolemar dreamt of eagles and dragons flying from the centre of a blooming deathbell, the petals singed with flame, and far off in the distance, the heartbreaking song of wolves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rulindil's raven-haired Breton is the beautiful Imani who belongs to the wonderfully talented Imdex! I can not stress enough how much you need to go and read all of her works! Go! Do it now! They are amazing and you will love them!


	3. Chapter 3

_“One, two, three. Unworthy. Unwanted. Unloved. You are nothing but an ornament, a toy, a distraction. Stained, tainted, besmirched. How long before this one leaves you? One, two, three. They all wanted something. To birth an heir, to fill his coffers. What will the Thalmor’s price be? Crowns of blood and dagger pierced hearts, shards of gold that scorch all they touch. The Storm will break you and throw you to the pack. Can you run fast, darling? I can hear them calling.”_

Ysabeau bolted upright, startled awake by the voice in her dreams that shook her to her very core. Devoid of love, dripping with cruelty, sweet as the songbird. The voice of her mother.

A cold sheen of sweat clung to her bared skin and it took a moment for the Breton to realise that the restraints she felt pulling at her limbs were just her blankets that had become wrapped around her body in the fearful writhing of her nightmare.

“It wasn’t real,” she panted to herself. “She isn't here.”

Trembling, she reached to her nightstand and poured herself a drink of water. The cool liquid was a blessing to her parched throat and she continued to take small sips as her bleary eyes adjusted to being awake. The sinister whispers of her mother drifted through her mind, clinging to her drowsiness, not yet willing to let go. Ysabeau gave a small shake of her head in an effort to rid herself of the intrusion and almost immediately gave up, choosing to give up on the idea of going back to sleep and get up instead. 

“Even in High Rock she is dictating my life,” She said as she irritably raked a comb through her curls. Once satisfied that her hair was presentable she sorted through her wardrobe and snatched out a simple outfit consisting of breeches, boots and a loose fitting shirt. A small part of her rejoiced in the passive rebellion that her mother, a woman who was adamant that a lady should never be seen in anything other than a gown, would never know. Ignorant or not, just thinking of the look of horror that would alight Lady Bontien’s face at her daughter’s choice in clothing was enough to bring a smile to Ysabeau’s own as she yanked on her riding boots. It was with this pleasant imagery that she stepped from her private quarters into the main rooms of Vlindrel Hall.

“Good morning, my Thane,” Argis greeted her from where he was bent over the fireplace stirring a pot of food. “I trust you slept well?”

The Nord’s kindly face melted her sour temper even further and Beau felt her smile widen in his presence. “Hello, Argis. That would be up for debate, but it matters little. How was your sleep?”

“The nightmares bothering you again?” He asked, ignoring her question. 

She nodded and picked up a sweetroll from the table, half-heartedly nibbling at the edges and swiping her finger along the icing. “They’re more frequent when I am alone. The past few weeks have spoilt me a bit in that sense.” 

Argis gave her a concerned look and she quickly added, “I will take something tonight to help me sleep, I promise. A sleepy Dragonborn would never do.”

“Definitely not, you need to keep those reflexes sharp. And eat something more filling than that sweetroll.”

“This is fine - “

“Eat,” Argis commanded. He set a steaming bowl of porridge before her and pointedly pushed forward a plate laden with fruit. 

“You’re awfully bossy for a housecarl aren’t you?” Beau teased, making a show of scooping a large spoonful of her breakfast into her mouth.  
Argis gave a deep chuckle. “I take my job very seriously.”

“And I greatly appreciate it, thank you.”

The two sat in companionable silence while they finished breakfast until Beau set her spoon aside and, in a nonchalant tone, asked, “So uhh, has there been a courier at all this morning?”

“No word from your elf, my Thane.”

“That wasn’t why I was asking. And he’s not my elf. He is…” She cocked her head thoughtfully to the side, a dreamy smile lifting the corners of her lips. “He is the Commander.”

Argis suppressed his amusement as best he could as he cleared the plates. “Of course, my Thane. Forgive me.”

The Thalmor wasn’t the first man to have turned his lady’s head since he had been in her service. Not short of lovers, Ysabeau enjoyed a string of companions that her housecarl turned a blind eye to whenever she was in Markarth. Most were little more than a pleasant memory come morning, but the elf was making an impact. Argis was undecided on whether that was a good thing or not.

Either way, it was all far too complicated for his taste. When he saw a beautiful woman at the tavern he offered to buy her a drink and if he were lucky, they would share an enjoyable evening together. Straight to the point and free of the frivolous dancing Ysabeau seemed so fond of. He looked to the Breton in question as she readied herself for the day and all the world may throw at her her; strapping her dagger to her thigh, stashing various potions and vials into her satchel, flipping through her worn leather journal, and he spared a thought to what life would be like if the Commander and the Dragonborn settled down together. The notion was quickly dismissed. Whatever happened between the two it was naught to do with him and Argis was thankful for it. Life among the grand could be hard enough. Give him a warm bed, a good fight and a strong drink any day.

Ysabeau’s voice, already sounding more cheerful than when she first woke, snapped him out of his inner musings. “I think that is everything, well then, I am off. Did you need anything, darling? I must see to a rather troublesome Forsworn camp this morning and then I promised Aicantar he could accompany me while I collected alchemy ingredients. He has expressed an interest in learning more about the practical aspect of botanicals so I have offered to teach him.”

“I’m sure that isn’t all the young scholar would like you to teach him,” Argis murmured under his breath. His words hadn’t been as quiet as he hoped however and Beau turned on him with playful chastisement.

“Now Argis, there is no need to be crass. Aicantar wishes for no such thing. He is a passionate student that is all and the embodiment of purity.”

“If you say so, my thane.”

“Besides,” she added with a wink. “I have never caught Aicantar under a barmaid’s skirts.”

Argis was still blushing as the heavy door closed behind her retreating form. 

\---

Across the land, in the hold of Haafingar, Ondolemar was enjoying a far more pleasant awakening. Warm lips and wandering hands had him half roused to wakefulness, tugging his mind from the gentle grip of slumber as the first light of the morning began to creep through the windows. Outside, the grounds of the Embassy shimmered in the dawn. The sun’s rays danced along the ice particles and golden armour of the unfortunate sentinels alike, melting the frost that so determinedly clung to the hilts of their swords, their pauldrons and helmets. Every now and then, magicka would swell in one's palm to conjure the flicker of a flame in an attempt to chase away the chill but except for this strive for comfort, the world was still. 

Within the luxurious confines of his bed, the Commander stirred and his cock slowly hardened to attention under the affections it was receiving. A skilful tongue lashed the underside, followed by the teasing graze of teeth along his shaft. With his eyes remaining closed he felt a shifting on the mattress and then hot breath was being fanned over his sensitive skin before he was engulfed again, swallowed deeply by his companion as nails raked down his thighs. A low growl of appreciation rose in his throat, soft and husky with sleep. 

"Dragonborn, you are insatiable."

"Not the Dragonborn."

There was little time to react between Ondolemar registering whose voice had spoken and where he actually was before the teeth that had been bringing him such bliss just moments prior bit down painfully and dragged along the length of his cock in punishment of his indiscretion. All drowsiness evaporated under the threat of the precarious position he was in and his green eyes shot open in horror to lock on to the venomous glare of Elenwen between his thighs. Fury and caution wared within him and under his breath, he cursed his own foolish tongue.

"My most sincere apologies, Madame Ambassador," he said, trying to subtly put distance between the Altmer's teeth and himself. "Forgive me, you woke me from a dream. If I was in possession of my senses I, of course, would not have offended you so."

Arcing a suspicious brow at him, Elenwen moved to straddle his lap, looping her arms around his neck she smirked as his cock, hot and thick between them, throbbed at the brush of her sex against him. "I should hope not, Ondolemar. Call me arrogant but I would like to think I am more fit to please you than the common mongrel?"

"Of course, my lady," he purred, gaining his composure. "The Breton does not compare. If I could control my dreams, my subconscious would be filled with nothing but you."  
The Ambassador rolled her eyes irritably. "Do not fawn, Ondolemar. It doesn't suit you."

Choosing another tactic, his lips found the elegant curve of her throat and between kisses, he whispered, "Will you grant me the honour of allowing me to make it up to you?"  
The soft moan that fell from her lips aided his confidence and he began to interplay his kisses with gentle bites as his hands came up to palm her breasts, his thumbs circling the flushed peak of her nipples until they hardened under his touch.

"Do you miss her, Ondolemar?"

"Excuse me?" He asked, pulling away to look at her in confusion.

"You heard me. Do you miss her?"

"No, I do not," he answered, lowering his mouth to her breast. His full lips closed around an erect peak and his own teeth carefully repaid the favour of her earlier assault. He repeated this on the other breast before saying, "the Dragonborn is pleasant, I will grant her, but my interest in the Breton is purely for the benefit of the Dominion."

"And you still stand by your ability to secure her loyalty?" Elenwen asked. Her elegant fingers traced along the lean muscles of his shoulders and he shivered at the light touch. 

"Certainly. Such power is too great to let it slip through our fingers."

"Or allow it to live."

"A tame dragon is far more useful than a dead one, my lady."

"Even tame creatures have been known to lash out at their masters, Commander," She sneered in response. "Let us say you are able to bring the Dragonborn to heel, how do know you can trust her loyalty?"

A self-assured smirk lifted his lips and a hand slipped between them to trace the line of her slit, purring at her state of arousal."I can be very persuasive."

A moan fell from the Ambassador's lips and her hips rocked lazily against his delving fingers."Your confidence amuses me, Ondolemar. Mmm...If I could be guaranteed that there would be any Breton left, I would be curious to pit yours and Rulindil's tactics against each other in a bid to see who can make the little dragon submit first." 

"I'm afraid our tactics would not be complementary to each other. It does make it that much harder to win someone's trust if you are allowing them to be tortured."

"A pity. It does make me think though." The sharp point of a canine raked along the lobe of his ear, adding his own moan to hers to sound between their words. "Perhaps we shouldn't leave it all in your rather...talented hands." 

"I'm not sure I understand?"

"If we are going to grant the Breton with the mercy of keeping her alive, I want that power."

"And you shall have it, your grace"

Ondolemar hooked his fingers within her and she gasped as she clung to him, using him as support as well as a source of pleasure. "With dragons at our beck and call," she said breathily."We could end this folly of a war in no time. Ulfric destroyed, the empire overthrown, it would be magnificent. And then we could finally return home to the Isles."

"What are you proposing?" Ondolemar husked against her skin.

"Invite your little whore to the Embassy. I have a great desire to show her how hospitable the Thalmor can be to those who aid them."

"And when would you care for me to arrange this visit? A month from now? Two?"

"Immediately, I wish to waste no time. The longer she is out there the more chances Ulfric has of getting his barbarian claws into her.' As she spoke her own nails dug into his skin to emphasise her point.

"With all due respect," he said, pulling away from her slightly to meet her eyes. "I am not sure that would be a sound plan. If you could grant me reasonable time to -"

"I said immediately," She growled, stilling her own movements. "The lands are rife with Stormcloak sympathisers. How long do you think it would be until one of them has the same idea you do? It is too risky to not act straight away." Her voice softened and she leaned in to whisper hotly against his ear. "I like to keep my assets close, Ondolemar, where I can keep an eye on them. You will see that it is done."

"Yes, your grace."


	4. Chapter 4

It wasn’t until an hour later when she had finally had her fill of pleasure, that Elenwen arose from the bed perfectly satisfied and filled with a renewed sense of determination. Ondolemar watched silently as she dressed. The graceful way she manipulated her elegant limbs back into her robes was hypnotizing. Dignified, refined and aloof, she was all that a well-bred Altmer should be. Even standing before him barely clothed she commanded respect. So different to the human they had been discussing before lust had overwhelmed them both again and those long limbs he found so captivating had been intertwined with his own. 

While he watched her his mind pondered the vast differences between the women who had found their way into his bed. The Dragonborn and The Ambassador, both women of unique standing and power, yet this seemed to him to be where the similarities ended. From their physical forms and their attitude towards the acts of pleasure there was a contrast; Elenwen was athletic, dominant, a finely honed weapon sheathed in the Aldmeris teachings of centuries. Her life was dedicated to the Dominion and achieving glory for both the cause and herself. Ysabeau, on the other hand, was made up of curves and compassion. Her gentleness had been a surprise to him having heard of her feats of bravery, but none the less pleasing. Within her, amidst the dragon souls and ancient power, was an innate desire to please, one that he hoped would lend itself to his ultimate goal. 

Unbidden, an image formed in his mind, one of the Dragonborn gazing at him adoringly, her full pink lips begging for more while she writhed beneath him, her voice sweet and soft, his title a breathless prayer on her lips and then the Ambassador became a part of it, her own golden hands gliding over alabaster skin to bring forth mewling cries of pain and pleasure. Beneath the sheets Ondolemar found himself stirring once again and he shifted in an attempt to subtly ease the discomfort.  
Shards of amber turned on him and he was hit with the sense of how peculiar it was that he should feel safer in the company of the one who could kill him with a single word, rather than the leader of his own faction.

“Surely you cannot still be in need of service?” Elenwen asked with a cocked brow that dared him to say yes. 

“No, my lady, of course not,” was his husky reply. “I was merely imagining how pleasing it will be to see you conquering the Dragonborn. There can be no greater sight than dragons under Dominion control.” Satisfied that his slight lie was convincing, Ondolemar made a show of appreciating her lean form as she moved about the room to placate her still further. 

“It will be grand indeed,” Elenwen purred. She paused before the gilded mirror that hung upon the wall and stared at her own beautiful reflection, the shadow of a wistful smile upon her lips. “I will be welcomed back to Alinor with parades and adoration filling the street and I suspect a higher rank in the wings.”

“They would be fools to deny you such an award.”

Silken robes swirled around her legs as she turned back to face him, the fabric swishing along the flagstone floor with every measured step she took towards the bed. “Compile a list,” She commanded, joining him back upon the mattress. “Of all the names connected to the Dragonborn. I want to know as much as we can about her as possible. And since you are so against physical persuasion it would pay to know who would be influential to torture in her place should the need arise.”

“I will see that it is done, your grace. You will not be disappointed.”

“I should hope not. A lot is riding on this idea of yours, Ondolemar. Gift me a dragon and you shall be rewarded.”  
A rough kiss dragged a guttural moan from his throat and a droplet of blood from his lips before she left him alone to fulfil his orders. 

Falling back against his pillow, Ondolemar allowed himself a sigh of frustration. This was not how he had wanted his plan to unfold. He had sought approval and little else. As pleased as he was that Elenwen was supportive of recruiting the Dragonborn it grated on him that in one fell swoop she had snatched away all control of his quest. And now she expected a list. Rolling from the bed he didn’t bother to dress before making his way to the desk. A rustle of parchment and the scratch of his quill preceded the grouping of names, each letter he scrawled a potential death sentence to the unwitting friends of the Dragonborn.

By the time he was finished 31 names lined the page, most of which he had lifted from her correspondence he had been intercepting. A small collection had been casually dropped into her rambling conversations she seemed so fond of and the third category were from his own observations of watching her flit about Understone Keep and the surrounding city. 

Leaning back in his chair he groaned as his aching muscles first resisted and then relaxed into his stretch. The long ride and the use of Elenwen had taken its toll on his body and he longed for the bliss of a hot bath. Slumping forward again his eyes roamed over his handiwork. An immense waste of time and one he couldn’t bring himself to see as necessary. The Breton had already proven herself to be easily swayed by him as made evident by how long she had stayed in Markarth at his request. It had pleased him to see her growing agitation at staying put, a subtle but every present annoyance that was in direct conflict with the excitement and lust that lit her eyes whenever she was in his presence. 

There was no doubt in his mind that when it came to it she would do as she was told. Nevertheless, he had orders and it was easier to follow them and keep his superior happy than it would be to argue the fact and risk her revoking the permission she had already granted. Seizing a fresh sheet of parchment he dipped his quill into the inkwell and began to write again, this time a short note to the Dragonborn expressing how greatly it would please him if she were to accept his invitation to join him at the Thalmor Embassy. Liberally sprinkled within the cordial formality he added in promises of amusement and a warm reception, ending with his desire to see her again. Inwardly he scoffed at the romantic notion but even one as besotted as she would be wary of walking straight into the Viper’s nest that was the Thalmor headquarters. 

A crisp fold, a drop of wax and the press of the Dominion seal saw the letter ready to be passed to a courier and Ondolemar set it aside while he dressed. The thought of the Dragonborn being in the embassy hung heavy in his mind while he buckled his robes. It wouldn’t be the first time her presence had been requested but at that time she was a guest of the Ambassador’s party, here for a few hours where she socialised, danced and enticed him to drag her into a darkened corner where he savoured his first taste of her. The disgust in himself for having touched a human had been overwhelming come morning, made greater when he returned to Markarth and had been forced to watch her flaunt herself about his space in a bid to gain his attention. 

“Worth every moment of shame,” he murmured to himself as he flipped up his hood and snatched up his letter and the list. After all, what was one indulgence in a lifetime that spanned centuries.

The door clicked softly closed behind him and confident strides carried him down the hall where he ignored every respectful nod and greeting from those he passed. His thoughts were too preoccupied with the task at hand for any of them to register in his notice. The information he held and what he would be requesting could not be palmed off to a random agent. He needed someone who understood the delicacy with which this must be handled. Someone with something to lose should this fail. 

The sound of his boots hitting the steps echoed through the corridor and upon his entry he was hit with the stale air, thick with the scent of blood, that filled the dungeons. 

"Emissary, a word if you will."


End file.
